Bad Soul

by David Bussell

  ‘You know, I was very upset you didn’t come visit me, Parks,’ I replied, sauntering over to join him on the battered leather couch.

  ‘Hey, you know me and prison don’t mix, Banks. Besides, I sent you that postcard didn’t I?’

  ‘Oh yeah, a picture of a beach in Hawaii, that made me feel really good. How was it?’

  ‘Pure bliss, girl.’

  I stood and shrugged off my leather jacket, then pulled my vest top off and unhooked my bra, dropping both down on the jacket.

  ‘So how’d you get free so soon anyway?’ he asked.

  I reached into my jacket to retrieve what the Long Man had given me.

  ‘Have a feel of that,’ I said, placing the Soul Dagger in Parker’s hand.

  He gasped as it touched his palm, his other hand stroking it. ‘This is a tool from Hell. A demon’s dagger.’

  ‘Yup, I’m rubbing shoulders with some real bad boys.’

  Parker shivered and handed the dagger back, wiping his hands on his jeans. ‘Bad boys? Demons are proper bad news. The worst news. Not to be trusted.’

  ‘Wait, no one told me you shouldn’t trust a demon from the pits of Hell. Now I feel like a right fool.’

  ‘I might be blind, but I can see that stupid grin on your face.’

  ‘I’m not grinning,’ I replied, grinning.

  Parker snorted. ‘You know you’re supposed to put any jobs through me. Why’d you go meet the client before checking in?’

  ‘Hey, I didn’t even know I had a client. Not really. And his man intercepted me before I had chance to drop in, so don’t get all annoyed.’

  Parker frowned and crossed his arms. ‘What’s the bounty? What figure we talking?’

  ‘Ah, right, money…’

  ‘No money?’

  ‘No money.’

  ‘Gold?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘Rubies then, tell me we getting a fistful of rubies.’

  ‘Strike three, you’re out.’

  ‘You just on this one out of the goodness of your heart, girl?’

  ‘Goodness? In my heart? You know me better than that, Parks.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. So what’s on offer, and why do I get the feeling I’m coming out light on this one?’

  I hesitated. Even after all this time, even after telling Parker everything about me, about my past, I still hesitated when I talked about this kind of stuff.

  ‘James?’

  ‘James,’ I repeated.

  ‘He know, this demon?’

  ‘He showed me something. Something about that night. Something I’d forgotten.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘I don’t know, it wasn’t clear, but it was someone new. Someone who was there that I can’t remember.’

  ‘And if you take that dagger back with a soul inside, he’ll help you remember?’

  ‘You can take a double cut on the next job.’

  Parker shook his head and laughed. ‘Girl, you think my heart is as damaged as yours? Welcome home. Do the job. You don’t owe me nothing on this one.’

  ‘You the man, Parks.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m the man. A mug, but the man,’ he replied, laughing again.

  I hopped into the reclining chair, ready for Parker to get to work with his needle. This was gonna hurt. It always hurt. Matter of fact, each time he reapplied my tattoos the pain seemed to get worse. Not just the application, but the tattoos themselves made my bones ache. For as long as they remained effective, they hurt, but I’d found a nice combination of alcohol and pain pills that helped take the edge off. My time in prison had been the longest I’d been without getting tattoos re-upped since I was fifteen, and to be honest, I felt better physically than I had since that time. The six-month break, no aches, no pain, had been needed, whether it was by choice or not. As pissed as I’d been to find myself in jail, it had also been a kind of relief. Well, until the boredom hit me around week two. But now I was out and I had work to do, and as a normal person running head-first into the Uncanny world, I needed my edge. I needed my tattoos fresh and ready.

  ‘You good, then?’

  ‘Bring on the pain, Parks.’

  As his needle buzzed into life, Parker’s eyes began to glow with a pure white light. The light seeped from his sockets and coiled around his arm like a double helix, feeding into the needle that jabbed feverishly at my flesh. I winced, my fists and teeth clenching, muscles contracting, as the needle slowly dragged across my shoulders, my arms, my collar bone, following the lines of the faded occult runes and mystical shapes that he’d given me so many times over more than a decade.

  It was agony, many, many times worse than an ordinary tattoo, but it was necessary. Without those runes I’d just be an ordinary woman with a knife, two fists, and quick brain. I wouldn’t last ten seconds mixing with the cocktail of bastards I ran with. At least with the tattoos I stood a chance. The special ink leached magic from my surroundings, powering me up like the Energizer Bunny. The magic didn’t give me the power to cast spells—I was still just an ordinary person, not born to the Uncanny world—but they did amplify my strength, my speed. It helped me deflect some magical attacks and recuperate with speed from wounds, from cuts, from broken bones even. Without the tattoos, as painful as they were, and as draining as they could be to carry, I would have been fitted for a coffin a long time ago.

  ‘Listening to anything good?’ I managed to ask Parker through clenched teeth, trying to distract myself from the pain.

  ‘I’m going through the Fifty Shades books,’ he replied.

  ‘Again? You dirty sod.’

  ‘Hey, don’t slut shame me, girl.’ A thought popped into his head and he took his foot off the pedal powering the needle. ‘I take it this demon feller told you about the wraiths, yeah?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘See. Can’t trust no demon, girly. If he wants you to get a soul that’s done a runner, that means there’ll be a wound. A schism, right?’

  ‘Yeah, he told me about that.’

  ‘Well, wherever there’s a wound in reality like that, you’re gonna get wraiths.’

  ‘Right. And are these wraiths friendly, she asked, already knowing the answer?’

  ‘They’re hungry. Nothing hungry is friendly. And if they get you, it’s game over, you hear me? You might survive a touch, but if they get a grip on you, there’s no getting away.’

  Fancy leaving that part out. Bastard demon. Well, I mean all demons are bastards—it’s right there in the job description—but the horned tit could’ve let me in on that little nugget before he sent me off with a magic dagger and a pat on the head.

  It took over an hour to reapply my ink fully. Finally, Parker turned off his needle and set it on the table beside me.

  I peeled my sweating back off the chair leather, shaking like a leaf. ‘Jesus…’ I said, dabbing off blood with a towel Parker tossed my way. It was always painful, but after a six-month break it was like my resistance had broken completely. On Bambi legs, I reached for my jacket and pulled out a small bottle of pills, which I washed down with a hip flask of whiskey. As I dressed, the pills and booze started to work their magic, and the pain turned into a background hum.

  I slid on my jacket and flexed my arms, my biceps, my fists. I could feel it. The power in the air surging into me. I looked down at the ends of the tattoos that peeked out from my jacket sleeves; they were glowing red, ready to help, ready to fight. I relaxed and the glow faded away.

  ‘I’d better be off then, things to do, people to kill.’ I swigged from the flask again and peeled back the curtain to head upstairs.

  ‘One thing,’ said Parker.

  ‘Yeah?’ I replied, pausing.

  ‘He’s in town.’

  I felt my cheeks flush. ‘Who?’

  ‘You know who. Kirklander. Been gone since you was caught, just got back in town a few weeks ago. I think the best thing you can do is ignore him. Never see him again. Definitely never work with him again, right?’

/>   ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Even a sheep only walks into the electrified fence a few times before they get the message.’

  ‘And you’re smarter than a sheep,’ said Parker.

  ‘Smarter than six sheep. Well, at least four.’

  Parker tilted his head to one side. ‘And you know it’s weak as hell to even think about seeing that guy, no matter the reason?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That you’d not only be letting yourself down but the whole of womankind?’

  ‘I mean, yeah, it would be pretty pathetic, wouldn’t it?

  ‘Uh huh,’ Parker replied, gripping my wrist. ‘Especially as you know how bad you are for each other.’

  ‘So bad.’

  ‘He left you behind.’

  ‘Bastard. Total bastard.’

  Parker nodded slowly. ‘You’re going round there right now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  ‘You’re a fool, girl.’

  ‘He can’t get away with what he did,’ I said, pulling free from Parker’s grip.

  ‘You go see him, he already has.’

  ‘Yeah, good point, but…’ I realised I didn’t have an end to the sentence.

  Parker sighed and shook his head. ‘You’re disappointing.’

  I nodded and walked out.

  Twenty minutes later I was stood before the door to a swanky loft apartment.

  I took a breath or two then pulled out my phone to check my reflection in the screen, fussing at my hair. Christ, I hated that I cared how I looked around him. After everything he’d done, I still wanted him to think I looked good. Pathetic. Parker was completely right and it didn’t matter. I put my phone away and knocked on the door.

  ‘Just a second,’ came Kirklander’s muffled voice from inside.

  I knocked again.

  ‘All right, all right, where’s the fire?’ The door opened and there he was, a look of astonishment across his beautiful face.

  ‘Hello, Kirklander.’

  ‘Erin, baby, you’re out!’ he said, a huge smile replacing the surprise, a smile that made me want to either tear his clothes off and do some sexy things or throw a fist at his nose.

  I chose option two.

  6

  Kirklander staggered back to his feet and laughed as I stepped inside and slammed the door behind me.

  ‘Kitty got claws,’ he said.

  Man, he was just the worst, but Christ, was he sexy. I watched as he brushed the back of his hand across his face, a smear of blood streaking from his nose.

  ‘You left me,’ I said, fists balled tight, tattoos glowing as they responded to my desire for violence, ready to do some damage.

  ‘Now, technically, that’s true,’ he said, ‘but if I hadn’t cut and run I might have ended up in prison, too, and I don’t think I would flourish in that environment. I mean look at me, I’d be top of the menu for every lusty bloke in there. Speaking of which, prison must have suited you, because you are looking fine as hell, Ba—’

  He didn’t get to finish that sentence before I screamed and charged him, my shoulder connecting with his chest as I carried him backwards and the two of us smashed into a cabinet, glass and wood splintering as we fell to the plush carpet.

  ‘Maybe we could settle this with a nice chat,’ he wheezed.

  ‘Good idea, allow me to begin,’ I straddled his chest as he squirmed, and punched him flush in the face, once, twice, three times. ‘Do I need to repeat what I just said?’

  ‘There are one or two things I’m still hazy on.’

  I grunted and hit him again.

  ‘Enough!’ he reached out a hand and a gnarled wooden staff flew across the room and landed in his grip. He swung it and whacked me against my temple, sending me sprawling.

  Room spinning, I clambered up to find Kirklander posed dramatically before me, the point of his staff aimed at my head.

  ‘So are we gonna kiss and make up now or what?’ he asked.

  ‘Or what,’ I replied, and ran at him again, tattoos burning bright. He thrust the staff forward and a glowing ball of red light shot from it. I managed a step to one side, but it winged me, sending me spinning through the air and crashing into the wall before sliding down and landing behind the couch.

  ‘Stay down, baby,’ said Kirklander. ‘Last thing I want to do is hurt you, you know that, right?’ I replied by throwing the couch at him. ‘Holy shit!’

  The staff threw out more magic, causing the couch to explode before it hit home, but it worked as the distraction I’d intended. I was almost upon him before the chaos cleared and he saw me. I kicked the staff from his hand, sending it winging across the room, then spun and brought my heel up in an arc, connecting with his jaw.

  Crack.

  Kirklander went down hard and I leapt on him, the two of us grappling, sweating, struggling, our faces right next to each other, our lips almost touching. Before I realised what was happening, the fight was on pause and we were staring into each other’s eyes, our bodies pressed together, mouths panting, heat rising.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ said Kirklander.

  I headbutted him and wriggled free of his grip. ‘The feeling ain’t mutual.’

  ‘Can we stop fighting for a bit?’ asked Kirklander, sitting up, hand to his nose.

  I stood up. ‘You’re a piece of shit,’ I said, spitting blood on his fancy carpet.

  ‘Would you want me any other way?’ he replied with a grin.

  Would I? The really worrying thing was that I wasn’t sure. Could I be happy with a kind, gentle, faithful man like Lana had? Or would that bore me to death? Would I even allow myself that kind of real, healthy love? Self-loathing is a powerful drug.

  All I knew for sure was that I was the worst kind of idiot, and Kirklander was a complete and total bastard.

  A total bastard, bastard, sexy bloody bastard.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’re drinking.’

  I headed out the door with Kirklander at my heel.

  I sat in a dark booth in Baker’s Pub, a cosy, low-ceilinged drinking hole near Seven Dials. Baker’s was a warren of a place spread across three floors, a maze of narrow corridors leading to snug rooms and bars, walls painted in rusty browns, seats upholstered in burgundy leather, giving the place a dark, muted feel. With its permanently closed curtains, Baker’s Pub was a warm, bolthole of a place that locals visited to hide from the outside world.

  I watched Kirklander as he ordered our drinks, stooping slightly to stop his head from scraping against the low ceiling. Kirklander was a wizard, low-level, but still, he had power. Not as much as he liked to brag about, but then no one could have that much power

  Kirklander needed the staff he carried to focus the magic he had, otherwise it just exploded out of him at random. Through the staff, carved from a branch he’d stole from the Sorcerer Tree, he could concentrate and direct his concussive blasts of magic. He could also use it to create circles of protection to hide inside of. They didn’t last long, but had come in handy in the past.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said, placing a pint before me and supping from his own as he lowered himself opposite.

  Somehow he’d become even more handsome since I’d last seen him. His thick, dark hair, always teased just right, falling past his ears to his neck, that square jaw with just the right amount of stubble, those soft, cushiony lips...

  I realised I was staring at him a little slack-jawed and picked up my pint to hide it. I’d been in prison for six months, people. I had needs.

  ‘So how is it that you’re actually out?’ he asked, lounging back, his green eyes fixed on mine. So relaxed. So confident.

  ‘Oh, nothing special, just this demon wanted me for a job,’ I replied nonchalantly. Kirklander sat forward, eager, like I knew he would be.

  ‘Job? What job?’

  ‘My job. None of your business.’

  ‘Come on, baby, you can tell me.’

  ‘Man, it must sting to realise they went to all the tr
ouble of getting me out instead of just asking you, eh? How does that feel?’

  Kirklander laughed and sat back again. ‘Hey, be secretive if you like, I’m doing just fine. Still, a job for a demon… you can pretty much name your price with those guys. What are you getting?’

  I ignored him, just smiled and sipped.

  ‘Okay, okay, mum’s the word.’

  We’d been doing a job together when I was arrested. Sent by some gangsters to go and scare the living hell out of a new group muscling in on their business. Between us, we thought it would be an easy job. Piece of piss. Run in with magic and fists flying, knock seven shades of shit out of them, tell them to get out of town, then off we’d go to spend our filthy lucre.

  It hadn’t quite worked out that way.

  They had a lot of protection, heavies who knew how to fight magic with magic. By the time we’d fought our way through the building—by the time I’d flattened noses, thrown people through windows, and broken more legs than I had fingers—my tattoos were drained and I was dead on my feet. I’d collapsed as the sirens had started blaring and the walls began reflecting the red and blue of police lights. The thing I remember most of all from that night though, the last thing I saw before I passed out, was the sight of Kirklander sprinting off into the distance.

  When I woke up from that I was in a hospital, handcuffed to a bed.

  ‘I want my share,’ I said.

  ‘Your share of what?’

  I grimaced and leaned across the table, grabbing Kirklander by his shirt and pulling him forward until we were practically nose-to-nose. ‘My share of the money we were owed.’

  ‘Oh, that money. Right, right, right. Yeah, that’s gone. Long gone. Barely lasted a week. Daddy’s got expensive tastes.’

  Oh, yuck.

  I shoved him back, my tattoos getting angry, throwing off heat.

  ‘Hey, I thought you were gonna be banged up for years! I needed a shop to cheer myself up.’ He brushed his hands down the long, ivory coat he was wearing. ‘Suits me, right?’

  ‘You’re such a bloody peacock.’